Sober
by Scrapper's Apprentice
Summary: It was just one of those days. One of those days were Skywarp wished everything wasn't that awful grey. He needed a high-grade. Thundercracker/Skywarp - Slash, nothing graphic. G1. R&R Please.


_**Author's Note: **Well, I've desperately been wanting to do this for some time now. A lust fic featuring our two favorite seekers, Skywarp and Thundercracker. I might create a sequel if anyone enjoys it. Please leave a review -- I hope you enjoy it!_

_**NOTICE:** Since there seems to be some confusion, I would like to add on the part no, I **am not** plagiarizing The Author "X-Brawn" because **I am** **her**. (it says so in my profile, and I can go on as X-Brawn and PM you if you don't believe me.) I have two accounts -- this one here is for only my canon stories to get myself sorted out._

_**Warning:** Slash, and Desired Thoughts!_

**Sober**

It was not every day I woke up fine. Usually my CPU buzzed with ache, and I felt like I was dragging my feet for the rest of the week. Yet today was one of those rare days that I did not have a hangover and could process everything going on around me. Such a pain in the aft that was. Especially since everyone could always tell, no matter how much you tried to look like the pit, that you were fine. When hungover you had an excuse to be late and everyone usually left it at that -- when not, they really chewed you out for not being on time. Some could pull it off, and were able to get people to buy it. Unfortunately, I wasn't that great an actor.

Reaching over for the device that would trigger the lights to my room, my chronometer said I was already late. I let my body fall back limp to my berth in annoyance. _Wonderful_. I grimaced when I realized the longer I stay here, the more trouble I would get in. I will always be loyal to my cause, and never back it down, but sometimes it was just a huge pain in the aft. Especially when you were the resident 'prankster'. Sometimes I counted it as a blessing for that was all that people expected from you -- pranks. To do something stupid. To be a klutz. To not care. To not feel.

People wanted you to be _numb_.

To never feel anything besides spreading laughs. Even if those laughs were at some one elses misfortune. As long as it brightened a dull, grey day. When black and white clashed it created this war. A droll, ugly blend, that no one wanted to get dragged into. Like humans -- as they aged their hair turned this sickly color. It was something none could avoid, even dying ones hair or trying to stay neutral -- no one could escape the grey. Sooner or later, they grey would get them and they would be numb, just like me.

Just like me. . .

Though I tried to escape the grey -- like we all do at some point before excepting it -- I could never out run it. I could fake a smile, pull a prank, act immature. Anything if it would help me escape the grey, but nothing worked. I should know -- I've tried just about everything. I really have. . .So I just act like the grey hasn't affected me yet. I was able to find a way to temporarily avoid the grey, and that was getting good and drunk. It was just a false feeling, covering up the grey. But it made it go away -- mask it -- so I, like others, kept doing it.

Again.

And again.

. . .And again.

One can always say, "I'll quite after this." or, "Just one more." But we never stop. It left one with the false feeling of color. But in reality, it had been a very long time since anyone had experienced color. Those vivid reds, and pleasant flowing blues. . .ones that made you feel like you were right next to the wide open sky. . .where one could sore for days on end, enjoying the wind beneath your wings. . .the cold chill running down your spinal joint. . .how good it is to be free!

I shake my helm to rid myself of these day dreams. They are highly unwanted and besides -- I must be hurrying! I don't have much time before I will be punished for my incompetence, and today I'm just not in the mood. -- It's almost ironic how when I have a hangover I am in a better mood than now. But then I was blinded by a fake rainbow, so it has reasonable. If one was familiar with color logic. It was surprising how much most had forgotten. Sure they could point out distinction, but ask for anything more and their IQ dropped from 200, to 0.

Knowing I can no longer stall my already dwindling time, my body groggily rises. My ruby optics online to see I was successful earlier with engaging the light sequence. As the powerful beams radiated in on me, I reached over to turn it down some. I had accidentally set them too bright again. Another one of my _foolish _traits. . .sometimes, I hated my friends. And even myself. Do I really want to be a hoax my whole life? Someone who is trapped in a never ending game of make believe?

Of coarse not, but I just didn't know what else to do. I hate not knowing. Not knowing what's going to happen to me the next day. Not knowing where the next power craze will take me. Not knowing when this will end. My whole life just seems to be filled with ignorance. Before I was okay with it, but now. . .now it's as if the false colors are becoming a rainbow to reveal things I have been blinded from over the vorns.

A knock at my door calls me from my barren thoughts and my spark skips a beat. Once my senses have been regained from shock, I almost wanted to throw something at the mech who had the nerve to open the door to my quarters. But in an astro-second I went from angry to happy.

The gorgeous aqua mech that I had the honor to call my wingmate stood at my door step, in his usual hunched over manner. My gaze was entranced upon him as he studied the room. It was then that I realized I had pretty much turned the lighting off. But the older mech knew how to navigate such a space for he kept his own lights dim -- I knew this because I had stumbled into his room plenty of times. Most of the time hungover. Or when I was still just a kid when I joined the cause. . . being the transformer equivalent of a teenager was not fun in dark, ruthless times. Especially when you were on the teams with no morales. Sometimes Thundercracker would let me sleep with him that night to ward off old fears.

Now it is embarrassing, and if any other Decepticon knew, well, I'd shoot Thundercracker then myself. I wish that on no one -- not even our enemies. It was down right _forbiden_ to have any affairs with anyone -- that's why there had been the order of destruction of all Femmes. Such a shame -- sometimes someone just needed a good shag. But this was not the case. TC helped me out, and it was nothing more. He probably didn't even think me to really know that stuff but I --

"There you are 'Warp! Primus, you know 'Screamer's in a frenzy wondering where you were." The baritone voice told me gentley with an undertone of concern. I could read Thundercracker like book, and he had not the slightest idea. It came from being his wingmate since I was a kid. I had always taken the time to study him, and every emotion that crossed his delightful face plates.

My optics so desperately wanted to wonder his glorious form, trace every last detail of those muscular legs. The sweet taste of his always pouting lower lip against mine. Was my dear TC always depressed? The ruby orbs that shined my Thundercracker dimmed in recognition, concentrating on what could be. I was so tempted just to stroke one of those sagging wings -- admit a delightful purr from his vocals. . .how I wanted to please my pet!

An uneasy silence filled my clustered room, and I soon learned he wished for an explanation. A quick shake of my CPU brought me back from my day dreaming, allowing me to answer coherently. How I always hated it when the colors left. . .

"Just slept in TC. What'd I miss?" I questioned groggily, annoyed at the static that hid in the undertones. Becoming fully aware after re-charge took to fragging long.

It took a while for him to reply as his crimson optics slowly studied me. Most likely searching for any indications that I had gotten a little too cheerful with high-grade again. But this time my prize would not find the deep haze under my optics, the illuminating abilities they would soon have, or they sensetivites that usually came. No -- instead, he just found a grumpy looking me.

As I realized this could be valuable study time, I conectrated hard on his whole form, desiring it all. It was not ever day I got a chance to get drunk in my pet's beauty.

Though far older than me, Thundercracker certainly still 'had it'. I started up, looking deep into his optics. Some say optics are "windows to the spark" but I find that a bunch of slag. The spark has one function -- to keep you alive. It's ones face plates that reveal the emotion. His at the moment were crinkled with concern, proceeding with his thorough examination. That bottom lip was piercing out again, just begging for a fierce kiss. . .

Next was the abdomen.

Rough and polished armor told me that Thundercracker had just returned from the wash racks -- the meeting had gone into it's usual brawl then. Poor TC must have gotten into the middle again, which was a bit shocking. The oldest seeker usually was the one to keep the most level a head and avoid the most harm. It was why he was pure, having only few weld marks compared to the rest of us.

It took all of my strength to keep my hands planted firmly at my sides, instead of gingerly stroking his amber cockpit. To glide my claws into the seems on his shoulders, making him wither with the pleasure of small electric pulses rattling his spark casing. . .How I wanted my Thundercracker. . .

As my thoughts kept drifting into more. . .pleasurable subjects, the paint on my 'cheeks' darkened some when I realized TC had stopped examining me and was staring me down with deep concern. How long had he been like that? Did he know that I wanted him? If so, he must think I'm crazy. . .bring me to Hook to make sure my CPU is working right, before just abandoning me when he learns I am at 100% efficiency. It was disgraceful to have a crush on a colleague after all, but could I help it if my colleague just happened to be so beautiful?

The handsome mech before me leaned over and sat down, scuffling next to me. Our wing tips clattered, echoing in the over-used room. A heat arose on my face plates at the action, longing to get so much closer. Though the force of the clash light, wings were a seekers most sensitive part. It richoted through my wing and into my chest plates, pecking at my spark. A muffled gasp escaped vocals and quickly found out it was myself.

His hand rose from his own sides, and I felt his bulky palm press against my silver forehead. The heat sensors rose again on my face for sexual attraction. His metal felt so cool against my inner inferno that I couldn't help but lean into his touch. My good TC. . .I knew his real intent of this action (to see if I was running below efficiency by testing the sensors on my face) yet I still dreamed of it being something more. . .that he liked me back. . .that he cared so much more. . .

His frown now hung like a man in the gallows, making it pretty obvious that he was beyond questionedable now -- he was flat out concerned.

"Your heat sensors are over charging 'Warp. I think you may be getting a virus -- let's go see Hook --"

"No!" I blurted out in a haste as he removed his arm from my face and spoke at the same time. The blush deepened at the thought of Hook just telling Thundercracker I was horny and to get out of his med-bay. Grumpy fragger that surgeon was. . .

All the same, I couldn't risk my secret being revealed, and gave my best cheeky grin. Almost all seemed to fall for the idiotic look and would leave things alone afterward. I had learned this trick in my early days, and had quickly realized how easy it could come in handy.

Unfortunate for I, I had one of the most stubborn wingmates imaginable.

"You sure 'Warp? Heat sensors acting out of place isn't normal, and you seem a bit shaky." He sighed when he realized I wasn't about to give in. He wasn't the only headstrong one on the base -- I've butted heads with a fair share of mechs (and femmes) in my day.

I was very glad when he finally gave in, letting me have my way. It never took long for me to break down TC since he still thought me as an "innocent kid". If he knew my desires he wouldn't ever say such a thing again. . .well, at least not the innocent part.

His stance still showed last minute reluctance before finally his crossed arms dropped in defeat. A knowing smirk crossed my own dermal plates, only to be met with a frowning one -- he knew too.

"All right 'Warp, you win. But I want you to take the next shift off, I'll cover you. I seriously believe that's a virus you have, and I swear to Primus 'Warp that if it gets worse I _will _drag you off to Hook, understood?"

I nodded in time with his standing. My delicate audios heard every kink that echoed in his body -- the only thing that really gave away his true age. He gave some last minute warnings before sliding out my door, and I sighed with relief. He still hadn't the slightest clue -- what do you know, Primus liked me! Or was saving this for some cruel joke in the future. . . I preferred the first thought.

With a clunk my body fell back against the berth, optics powering down. Maybe I should have just told TC how I felt. . .Maybe he would like me back. . .Maybe this could all work out. . .

As I had said before, I hated not knowing, and maybes couldn't cover the definite answers I needed.

My body went lax as more thoughts flowed into the stream of my processor, making me upset. This all was just too much sometimes, and right now, I was just so lost. . . I wish I had high-grade on me. The colors could relieve me of this worry and guilt and confusion.

But I didn't have any.

With time I could make TC mine. I would just need forever, and in a war, with no guarantees, I would just have to make it. It was as best chance one had, not to mention the only one.

Another thourough shake of my processor to rid myself of my tornado of trouble. I was thinking to much. Way to much. All thinking ever did was make my CPU buzz more than it needed to be. In my non-drunk state a I felt more colors fade to the grey and I physically winced. This was the part I hated the most. . .

It just sucked to be Sober.

--

_**Ending Notes:** Well, this is it. I might make a Sequel to this where our dear Skywarp actually catshes his prize, but that is only of people enjoy this one. I'll explain a few things now, since some might be confused._

_1.) In my own opinion Weld Marks are like the Transformer version of Scars._

_2.) By pressing his hand against Skaywarp's face, he heightened his sensors in his hand to detect any odd temperatures. Scans would show how accurate and what the direct problem is, but this method reveals if they are over heating of cooling. Like how we humans take ones temperature._

_3.) The blush. I would imagine, like how a human blush works, when a Transformer gets jumpy and their internal heating acts up, it might leave a faint glow on their cheeks or just darker/lighten the paint in that place._


End file.
